


Dream Lover

by PinkGlitterMasturbation



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Better living through educational sex, F/F, F/M, Hermione is a BAMF at Magic, Light Dom/sub, Luna is an awesome best friend with benefits, Spanking, There's a surprise in here!, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 18:01:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkGlitterMasturbation/pseuds/PinkGlitterMasturbation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mid book six, Hermione decides launching birds at Ron and making out with Cormac McLaggen isn't going to give her the sexual power over Ron that she wants.  After a brainstorming session with a decidedly helpful Luna, Hermione creates a spell, heads to the Room of Requirement and waits for her dream lover, Mr. Darcy, to show up and teach her everything she needs to know.  Unfortunately, the spell knows Hermione better than she knows herself and delivers her a dream lover/teacher that she never expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream Lover

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by the insanely awesome mokuyoubi (I owe you!)

      The day after Hermione saw Ron snogging Lavender Brown, she decided she needed more experience. Of the decidedly sexual variety. The feelings of inadequacy that had flooded her at the sight of Ron’s hands through Lavender’s hair and down her back had made Hermione ache to be in Lavender’s place. Well, that had been her instinct for all of five seconds. Then, her anger and several canaries had taken over. She allowed herself a smirk at the memory of Ron throwing up his arms to defend himself.

       Although she normally preferred to get her knowledge from books, Hermione had known that the situation called for practical lessons. Cormac McLaggen had been her first true foray into exploring the realm of teenage hormones. Oh, she had kissed Viktor, but the burly Quidditch player had been surprisingly respectful of her inexperience and the difference in their ages. She hadn’t gained much from their interactions in the way of carnal knowledge. And if there was one thing Hermione Granger knew to be true, it was that knowledge (of any variety) was power. When Ron finally came to his senses, when the day arrived that he looked at Hermione and recognized her true and unique worth, she was going to be prepared. She was going to have the knowledge to turn his world upside, to make him beg at her feet.

       This was her plan, but she was at a bit of a stalemate. Cormac McLaggen was an ape. There was nothing to be learned from him. Still, she didn’t want to simply choose another boyfriend because she doubted any of the dating pool at Hogwarts was much better. It wasn’t until she and Luna were sitting on Luna’s bed in Ravenclaw Tower, watching The Matrix, that the solution presented itself.

       She had brought her portable DVD player on a whim, along with a small selection of movies. There were no electrical outlets, but Hermione had worked out a spell to keep the player charged. She generally preferred reading to watching movies, but Hermione had wanted company as well as mindless entertainment. Luna had been intrigued at the concept of Muggle films and the two had gathered all the sweets they had left from their last Hogsmeade trip and camped out in Luna’s four-poster bed with the blue velvet hangings drawn to make the screen brighter. Luna spent most of the movie giggling at the wrong places, but Hermione was still grateful for the company. Gryffindor Tower was home to Ron and Lavender, who spent all time not in classes glued to each other, and bringing Hermione’s blood to a rapid, roiling boil.

      “Lavender Brown probably kisses like a goblin,” Luna spoke as she watched Trinity bend to kiss Neo. “With a mouthful of nargles,” she added, biting into a fizzing whizbee.

       Hermione gave Luna a look full of affection. The odd girl had grown on her. “What do you know about kissing goblins?” Hermione teased, pinching Luna lightly on the side.

      “I don’t know anything about kissing.” Luna smiled her vague smile, one that never quite matched the expression in her eyes. “But I have a good imagination.”

      “You’ve never been kissed?” Hermione wasn’t really surprised. Luna was so…different, after all. But she was kind and funny and pretty in an ethereal, not quite human way. Almost like brain-damaged Veela – enchanting, but also slightly off-putting.

       Luna shook her head, squinting her eyes as the credits began to roll on the small screen. “Why? Do you want to kiss me?” She had turned back to Hermione, her large eyes giving away none of her thoughts.

       Hermione had not planned on kissing Luna, but she had decided to broaden her sexual knowledge and she wasn’t going to back down when such an opportunity presented itself. “If you don’t mind.” Hermione flushed.

       It was one thing to make up her mind; it was another thing to talk about it.

       “I’m fairly certain it will be pleasant.” Luna glanced at Hermione’s lips. “Your skin looks very soft.”

       It was time for action. If Hermione didn’t do it now, she wouldn’t ever. Luna was already leaning toward her, and it took less than a second to meet the girl’s lips with her own.

       Hermione didn’t feel lust toward her friend, but the kiss was slow and sweet, and thoroughly enjoyable.

      Luna ended the contact, pulling back after a few minutes. “That was lovely, Hermione.” Her smile had reached her eyes for once, and she was clearly sincere.

      “But?” Hermione didn’t really care what the reason was; there hadn’t been a spark, just the friendship distilled into their mouths. Nice, but not something that would help her on her quest to reduce Ron to a quivering mess when the time was right. Still, she was curious to know what Luna thought.

       “You love Ron. Even if he kisses goblins who wear too much perfume.” Luna got straight to the point, as usual.

        Her honesty was sometimes awkward, but Hermione appreciated the fact that she had a friend who understood her (Harry did somewhat, but he was torn between competing loyalties). Luna was clearly 100% Team Hermione. The pale blonde reached out an arm and pulled Hermione back, lowering both of them onto her pillows. The kiss had made Hermione feel warm and fuzzy and safe, so she didn’t protest, but instead snuggled into Luna’s side, sighing as Luna ran her fingers through her curls.

       “What you need is practice with the woman in the red dress.”

       “What?” Hermione frowned into Luna’s green corduroy jumper. She was thoroughly confused. Plus, she had liked kissing Luna, and might even do it again, but she didn’t think she was gay.

       Luna gestured toward the Matrix case. “You need a stimulation simulation. Someone to practice with who feels real, but isn’t.” She continued to stroke Hermione’s hair with her long, cool fingers. “That way you gain experience, but don’t feel guilty.”

       Hermione sat up as a flurry of thoughts filled her mind. “I need to go to the library.” She gathered her things into her bag, then paused to look at Luna, whose pale blonde locks were spread over her sapphire bedding, her lips slightly puffed from their recent kiss. On an impulse that she told herself had nothing to do with desire of any kind, Hermione leaned down and kissed her friend’s lips once again. This time, Luna’s tongue outlined Hermione’s mouth, then darted inside. Hermione was on the verge of responding, but then she thought of Ron, and the fact that she truly liked Luna and didn’t want to toy with her affections.

       As Hermione pulled back, Luna gave her a wise look. “See?” Her pale, wide mouth gave a sweet, yet wistful turn upwards. “You need a woman in red, not a girl in a green jumper.”

                                                                                                                           oOo

       It took Hermione three frustrating weeks to complete the research needed to create her simulation. Three weeks of watching Ron and his goblin (Luna’s nickname stuck) suck face whenever they found five minutes between classes and an empty corner. Evenings in the common room were unbearable. Ron’s presence made her sick with a nasty combination of anger and hurt. Her only refuge was the thought that she eventually would make him grovel for all of this.

       Luna had helped her with the research, though, to be honest, Luna’s idea of help was to quote obscure legends (usually about the mating rituals of creatures that were mythical even by the magical world’s standards) and rub Hermione’s leg with her foot. Hermione didn’t mind the leg rubbing, nor did she mind how Luna played with her hair and snuggled against her while Hermione poured over the books she checked out from the library. Luna’s bedroom was the base of operations. Luna’s three roommates were rarely in their room, and they were used to Luna drawing the curtains and humming off-key.  They had reached an unspoken agreement of which touches were relatively guilt-free, and though kissing was not exactly on the safe list, there had been additional, rather chaste kisses. She found she enjoyed Luna’s company immensely, as her quiet, calm energy was so different from either Harry or He Who Must Not Be Named Other Than As Goblin-Kisser.

       Hermione was also grateful for Luna’s assistance in getting ingredients for her spell. The Ravenclaw had no qualms about writing her father and asking for various herbs, and it was clear he trusted her, as all the requested items arrived within a day. Hermione had created what she believed to be a rather ingenious spell – combining elements of illusions, love spells, dream and copying charms, and a touch of Occlumency. Her idea was to go to the Room of Requirement, concentrate on an ideal lover, then recite the spell and take the potion she had brewed. If all went well, an illusion would appear to teach her what she couldn’t get from Cormac, and what she wouldn’t take from Luna. And if the experience was a success, she would repeat it until she found the confidence she was currently lacking in the arena of physical intimacy.

                                                                                                                               oOo

        Hermione wasn’t sure what she expected when she entered the Room of Requirement with her potion on the following Saturday afternoon, but when she saw how the room had presented itself, she considered running. The space was nothing like the training area it had been for Dumbledore’s Army; instead, it was beautiful and intimate, everything she imagined one could want for a romantic liaison. There was a crackling fireplace, soft rugs spread with large cushions, a bed that seemed to take up half the room, and a low table filled with bottles that Hermione assumed to be lotions and oils (she was afraid to take a closer look). Just as Hermione realized her third best pair of jeans and a red knit sweater with a growing snag on the left elbow was not the sexiest outfit to wear, a pale pink silk nightgown appeared on the bed. She walked over as boldly as she could. This is why she had come – the room knew it, so she needed to stick to the plan. She quickly changed into the nightgown, relieved that it fell to her feet, and was not cut too low in the bodice.

       She poured the potion into a cup that appeared on the mantle and pondered her choices. Being Muggle-born (and still spending part of the year living in the Muggle world), Hermione’s first thoughts of heart-throbs were movie stars. She had always had a soft spot for Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy, and she also liked him in _Bridget Jones’s Diary_. He was much too old for her in the real world, but this was an illusion, a kind of waking dream, and surely there was no harm in aiming high? After all, she wanted a lover with experience and skill, someone who could teach her all she needed to know to even the odds when Ron finally came to his senses and realized he loved her. She wanted the upper hand, and she intended on taking it. Hermione sat quietly for a few moments, picturing Colin Firth in the outfit from _Pride and Prejudice_.  She was feeling pleasantly flushed by the time she sipped the potion and began her incantation.

       There was a brief moment of pride at all she had accomplished. This had been a brilliant piece of spellwork. She’d like to see Harry’s precious Half-Blood Prince do this! Hadn’t Sirius called her the cleverest witch of her age? She wished Sirius could have seen this – he would have simply called her the cleverest witch, period.

        “Hermione?” A low voice sounded from behind her.

       She froze. She knew that voice. It was – “Sirius?”

       Hermione turned to see Harry’s godfather standing before her, looking very much alive and rakishly handsome in his tight black pants, charcoal grey shirt unbuttoned at the neck, black and grey vest, and a claret velvet coat. His hair fell to his shoulders in unruly waves, but his moustache and goatee were neatly trimmed. What drew her attention most, though, were the deep-set blue eyes that stared at her with a lust she’d only ever seen in the movies, a lust she’d never imagined would be directed at her, not even by a certain gangly redhead who didn’t know his heart from his arse.

        Harry’s godfather briefly glanced around the room before settling his gaze back on her. “I think you summoned me here for a tryst, Miss Granger.”

        There was hint of both amusement and amazement in his voice. Hermione couldn’t seem to find her voice. “I….I didn’t think of you for this spell, this was a mistake.” She couldn’t believe how like the real Sirius this illusion was.

        One raised eyebrow.

        “Well, I did technically think of you, just after I said the spell, but not in a sexual way – I’ve never thought of you in that way!” These words came out in a jumble, tumbling from her lips at lightening speed.

         The eyebrow stayed up and a smirk played at the corner of Sirius’s mouth.

         “I just thought you’d be impressed by the spell, that’s all!” Hermione’s tone was somewhere between an indignant huff and an embarrassed plea.

         Sirius bridged the gap between them with three quick steps. He smelled like cloves and black pepper – dark and spicy. “Aren’t you the teacher’s pet?” His voice was a slow drawl that made her stomach feel like she’d eaten ten chocolate frogs.

         “You aren’t my teacher,” Hermione breathed, so very unsure of herself despite the impressive magic she had just wrought.

         “Aren’t I?” Sirius murmured, close enough that she could smell a hint of meade on his breath, honey sweet. “Isn’t that why you chose me to be here with you, out of all the illusions you could have created?”

          “I told you, this was an accident. You were supposed to be Mr. Darcy.” She was dangerously close to tears. How could her mind have betrayed her in such a way?

          Sirius shook his head. “I have no idea who Mr. Darcy is, but I am certain this is not a mistake.” He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “I was quite the ladies’ man – you couldn’t have picked a better teacher. I think the student in you sought out the master in me.” A shiver went through Hermione at both his warm breath and his words.

          “Master?”

          There was a wicked glint in his eye as he murmured, “I’m getting ahead of myself.”

           She swallowed. What in the world had she gotten herself into?

          “Trust me,” he purred. “By the time we’re done, you will be a sex Goddess.”

           Hermione chewed her lip. This is an illusion, she reminded herself. It really didn’t matter that Sirius was the form of the illusion. And if she dug down deep enough, she had to admit that she had always found Sirius sexy in a bad boy, I-break-all-the-rules-and-make-my-own way. She took in a great breath.

          “Fine,” she expelled the breath, trying to steady herself. “Teach me.”

          “Excellent!” Sirius put his hands on her bare arms, rubbing them gently before guiding her to the cushions in front of the fire.

          “Sit.” His voice was firm, authoritarian, and it made her skin tingle. She sat, and watched as he produced his wand from inside his coat pocket. Her illusion could do magic? Apparently so, because soft music began to play, as if an invisible band were in the room. He put his wand on the mantle and sat down beside her.

          “Let us begin with the basics.” Tapping his finger to his lips, he asked, “What do you know about kissing?”

          Hermione had the awful feeling that she was getting a pop quiz over material she hadn’t covered, which was as close to hell on earth as Hermione could get. “Not a lot,” she admitted nervously. “I’ve kissed two boys and one girl – only a few times for each.”

           The eyebrow was up again. “A girl? Well, that is wonderful. It shows you have an adventurous spirit and don’t accept easy labels.” He leaned closer. “I suppose though, that the only true test of your skills is to taste them.”

           His lips followed his words so quickly that Hermione wouldn’t have had time to pull away even if she had wanted to. It’s just like a dream, she told herself as his mouth covered hers. But it was so real! The heat and pressure of his lips were unlike any previous experience. Like his tone, his mouth was firm on her own, starting with a gentle request, then deepening to an insistent demand. Hermione opened her mouth, and nearly died. Dear God! _The man’s tongue_! It wasn’t the hesitant flicks of Viktor, nor the octopus-like suction of Cormac. At its very lightest, his tongue reminded her of the brief French kiss she’d shared with Luna, but the gentility was gone almost immediately, replaced by a tongue that entered her mouth and nearly devoured her. Yet Sirius didn’t simply kiss her, he helped her kiss him back. Every movement was a step in a dance, and Hermione was catching on quickly. She didn’t realize she had wrapped her fingers in his dark curls until he ended the kiss and pulled back slowly. She couldn’t help the small pout that came to her lips. Sirius laughed, a deep, sexy sound.

        “See, I knew you were teacher’s pet.”

         _Yes, yes, I am! Now kiss me again!_ Hermione thought, unconsciously leaning forward.

        He looked deep into her eyes, his blue irises twinkling with mischief. “What you really want is to bring a boy to his knees, isn’t it?"

        _He knows this because he is a projection of my mind_ , she told herself. She nodded.

       “Not Harry, I hope?” Sirius grinned. “Not that you wouldn’t make an excellent couple, but I just hate to create such a perfect monster to eat up my godson.”

       “No, not Harry.” Hermione smiled at the thought of “eating up” Ron.

        Sirius’s twinkle had become a sexy stare. “Well, darling of mine, I’ll teach you to bring a man to his knees.”

       Hermione couldn’t help but clap her hands in excitement. She dismissed the brief thought that she was a terribly wicked girl. “Wonderful! Shall we snog some more?” Hermione really, really wanted Sirius to kiss her again. His mouth was like heaven.

       Sirius stood, and pulled Hermione up to her feet. “So eager, my dear. But if you are going to break a man, you first need to be broken yourself.”

       His words went straight to her groin. Hermione felt the blood coursing to the sensitive areas below her waist. “How will you ‘break’ me?” She managed to squeak out, imagining whips and chains. Somehow, the image of Sirius with a riding crop made matters worse between her thighs.

       “Very carefully,” he answered, grabbing her waist and bringing her in for another kiss. She opened her mouth, but his lips landed on her jaw, then trailed to her ear, down her throat to the place where her neck joined her shoulder. At that junction, Sirius bit down, making Hermione cry out.

      “Shhh,” he whispered into her flesh, moving one hand up to cradle her head and caress her lips with his thumb. Despite the pain, which was quickly replaced with a glowing warmth that spread through her chest and trailed further down, Hermione focused on his thumb, which was tracing her lips with a maddeningly light touch. Always a student who searched for unique solutions, Hermione promptly surrounded the thumb with her mouth and began to suck on it as she would a lolly. She was inexperienced, but she wasn’t naïve, and she knew quite well the fascination men had with things being sucked. Hadn’t half of the boys in Gryffindor watched Romilda Vane eat that popsicle-like treat at the ice cream parlor in Hogsmead?

       Sirius moaned against her shoulder, and pulled his hand away. “You’re skipping lessons, pet. What are we to do about that?”

       “Detention?” Hermione quipped, feeling a bit heady from her arousal, and emboldened by the endorphins. This was her fantasy, after all. She could say what she chose.

       There was another sexy laugh from Sirius, rich and throaty. “Mmmmm, I think lines might be the best avenue of punishment.”

       Hermione grinned. “I will not suck my teacher’s thumb without permission, one hundred times?”

       “Not quite, dear pet.” Sirius had walked to the bed, and Hermione had been unconsciously following him. Now, in one quick, smooth movement, her pulled her onto the bed with him, and across his lap, face-down. His hands had her nightgown up and her knickers down before she could protest. “Now, your “lines” will be given verbally, and you will speak them after each blow. If you miss a line, we will repeat the blow.”

       “Blow?” Hermione spoke mostly into the pillow – her face was blazing red with embarrassment. No man had ever touched her bottom. And if he moved his hand around much, Sirius would be able to see, to feel, how aroused she was. The only answer was Sirius’s hand coming down on her backside. It was a hard slap, but not unbearable, and like the bite at her neck, the pain quickly became a warmth that made her skin flush and strain to meet more of his touch.

       “Your line, Miss Granger!” Sirius’s voice was sharp, harsh.

       “I will not suck my teacher’s thumb without permission.”

       “Without permission?” the stern voice prompted.

       Hermione made a quick guess. “Without permission, Sir?” Her tone was a bit hesitant.

       The hand came down again, and Hermione repeated her line. After two more hits, Sirius’s hand paused on her buttocks, rubbing the reddened flesh. To her dignity’s horror and her body’s delight, he deftly slipped a hand between her legs. “Oh, Miss Granger, I think my pet likes this lesson!”

       Hermione could only moan in response. She touched herself occasionally, in the bath, or very quietly in bed when she was sure the other girls were asleep, but this was nothing like that. Sirius had large hands, warm, with long, wide fingers. His fingers were surprisingly gentle as they skimmed over her labia, just barely touching the dripping folds. Oh, this was what she wanted. To know about passion. The spanking commenced again, and Hermione dutifully repeated her lines, amazed that she was enjoying having her bottom smacked. Any punishment, no matter how small, in the real Hogwarts made her feel horrible. Why did she like this humiliation?

       “Darling, you are wound so tight. You need a firm hand to help unspool you,” Sirius answered, as though he read her mind. He turned her over gently. “You took your punishment very well, Miss Granger.” He kissed the side of her face. “Your teacher awards an “O” for outstanding.”

       Although it was ridiculous, Hermione felt a rush of pride.

      “Of course, I expected nothing less from such a clever little witch,” Sirius purred, that low rumble reducing her to a soupy mess.

       Without realizing it, Hermione was twitching her hips, rocking them back and forth as she sat on her fantasy’s lap. Sirius put a hand on her hip, stilling her movement. He laid her back on the pillows, and came to rest lightly upon her, most of his weight borne on his forearms. Hermione could feel his erection through the thin silk of her nightgown and forgot to breathe for a moment.

       That decidedly wicked grin playing across his face, Sirius placed a series of kisses on her forehead, eyelids, cheekbones, nose, and chin. “You. Deserve. A. Reward.”

       This was already a reward! Better than if she had single-handedly won the house cup! Hermione was beyond a tingling glow – her skin was on fire now. “Thank you, Sir,” she murmured.

       “What pretty manners,” Sirius sighed, continuing to kiss her in small, teasing pecks around her face, jaw, and throat. His hand, however, was traveling down, brushing her collarbones, dipping into the neckline of her gown, gliding along the swell of her breast. “Let’s see what it takes to make you lose that lovely composure.”

        Then, his hands were pushing down the flimsy straps of the nightgown, exposing breasts that were small, but with pert nipples rising eagerly to meet his fingers. Hermione felt another moment of embarrassment, mentally comparing her chest to Lavender’s, which was at least two cup sizes larger.

        “Hush,” Sirius ran his finger back and forth across her breast as if he was stilling her lips instead of her nipple. “I’ve always preferred oranges to grapefruits,” He lowered his mouth to her breast, kissing the side. “So much sweeter.” The words of reassurance were almost as sexy as Sirius’s next move, which was to cover her nipple with his lips.

         Hermione moaned, louder than she would have thought possible. It was a deep, obscene sound and she couldn’t believe that it issued from her.

        “Mmmm, definitely sweet,” he spoke into her flesh, and continued to speak as he moved further down, pulling her nightgown to her waist, then her hips, then completely off her body. “You are not only clever, dear pet, you are beautiful.”

         Hermione stiffened. She knew she was not pretty. She had grown up with frizzy hair and buck teeth (thank God she hadn’t needed glasses), and although she had long since fixed both issues, the twelve year old in Hermione’s mind told her daily that she would never have the quiet beauty of Cho Chang, the fierce loveliness of Ginny Weasley, nor ever the (in her opinion) overdone and blowsy appeal of Lavender Brown. Her intelligence was her main asset, along with her loyalty, kindness, and her best physical feature, her clear and very soft skin. Hermione had no interest in deluding herself, and she didn’t want to hear lies, even if they were from an illusion she had created.

         “Stop that.” Sirius’s hands were now on her hips, gripping both sides tightly, his chin resting on her pubic bone as his eyes bored into hers.

         “You don’t have to lie to me,” Hermione held back a sniffle. Thinking about her appearance made her feel fragile. No amount of intelligence could change her looks (and she was too proud to change her face in any substantial way through magic).

          A growl issued from Sirius’s lips, reminding Hermione that he was an Animagus who took the form of a giant black dog with deadly teeth. “I said, stop that.” He nipped at her hip bone, hard enough to leave a mark. He considered her closely for a few moments, then abruptly rearranged both their bodies so that he was up against the headboard and Hermione was between his legs, her back to his chest. One of his arms was across her waist, holding her in place.

         “Now, pet, if you want to be a Goddess, you have to learn to worship at your own temple.” He took her hand and placed it between her thighs. “Repeat after me: I am beautiful.” He guided her fingers to the damp curls. Hermione hesitated and was rewarded with a sharp smack to those curls, making her gasp in a combination of pain and pleasure. “You won’t be reducing any man or boy to anything unless you know your worth.”

        “I do know my worth!” she protested, then bit back a scream as Sirius’s hand came down again, harder, against the very aroused and incredibly sensitive flesh.

        “Lying is a punishable offense, Miss Granger. You used some Occlumency in that spell, and I know what you are thinking.” He paused, then added, “I know what you _need_ , pet.”  

         Lazily, he whispered an incantation (she recognized the latin word for mirror), and the canopy above the bed was replaced by a mirror. He forced her chin upwards until she met her own eyes. “Now, do as you were told.” His voice had taken on the edgy harshness again, his fingers twitching as they pushed her own fingers into her warm, wet folds.

         Her breath hitching, looking into the brown eyes of a flushed-cheek, hedonistic stranger, Hermione spoke slowly. “I am beautiful.”

        Sirius dipped his middle finger, and hers inside her. “Again.”

        “I am beautiful,” the words came out in a moan this time, Hermione panting at the touch and the sight of herself, spread wide and naked against Sirus’s fully clothed body.

         “That’s an improvement,” he nuzzled her neck and began to work their entwined fingers back and forth against the nub of her clitoris, occasionally pausing to thrust into her.

         “Oh, yes,” Hermione heard the words and was shocked at the sultry, breathy tone. Surely Hermione Granger, the smartest student in her year, a stickler for rules (unless they were unjust, as in the case of house elves), the girl who spent more time in the library than any other place, was not capable of making such a sound of such raw lust.

          “You are so close now, pet.” His fingers were firm and fast, moving with greater speed and harsher force, keeping a brutal but beautiful rhythm. She could feel the rising tide of her approaching orgasm, and its intensity frightened her. Sirius recognized this, and without letting up his pace, he simultaneously kissed her cheek and rolled her nipple with his free hand. “Let go, dear pet,” he whispered, his voice now brimming with affection, his tone the kind she would love to hear from Ron. “This is your fantasy. You are safe. You are _loved_.”

          At these words, Hermione felt the wave of sensation crash into her, over her, through her, until she was drowning in pleasure, gasping for breath as every cell in her body floated in near delirious physical delight. As she screamed, Sirius guided her chin upwards. “Open your eyes and behold a Goddess.” She followed his command and saw herself, not the girl who had entered this room with nervous determination, but as a radiant soul barely contained in a body, a woman who glowed with the knowledge of her value, a woman who wouldn’t second-guess herself or listen to that harsh, bratty twelve year old voice for another minute. _This must be the magic_ , she thought.

        Sirius shook his head, his dark curls moving with a ticklish brush against her shoulder. “No, Miss Granger. Not magic. You.”

        Hermione lay on the bed, against the hard, welcoming warmth of Sirius’s, basking in the euphoria that hadn’t yet faded in the least. Her mouth, finally drained of its moans, stretched into a wide, satisfied grin.

       “Pleasure suits you, pet.” Sirius lazily stroked her hair. “You must remember what you are capable of, not just with that exceptional mind, but also with this brilliant body.”

       “Well,” Hermione couldn’t keep the playful tone out of her voice. “I might be able to remember that if I had enough lessons to enforce that belief.”

       “Cheeky wench,” Sirius nipped her ear. “I take it you won’t be thinking of Mr. Darcy on your next visit?”

        She laughed in delight at the sudden image of Sirius in Regency dress. “Darcy who?”


End file.
